


What happens in Vegas...

by Haunt_Haunt_Haunt



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: AU-Regions have Four Parts, But like... Pokemonified, Desert Resort, Eastern Unova, Horseback Archery, Isshu-chihou | Unova, It works surprisingly, Las Vegas, Native American/First Nations Culture, Other, Poke-Con, Shameless Smut, This Fucking Crossover, Unovan History, Y'all Ever feel like the Regions were small?, trans Ethan, yeah me too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:00:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23075155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haunt_Haunt_Haunt/pseuds/Haunt_Haunt_Haunt
Summary: Poke-Con! It's the first time the new Johto Champion gets to go. He's in for a great time.
Relationships: Ethan/Rath





	1. Young Volcanoes

**Author's Note:**

> I'm Native, so I can write this. If you aren't Native, then do not follow my example. That'd be racist.
> 
> I own none of this. Don't sue me.

I wasn’t expecting to be here, honestly. It was still so exciting. Poke-con. The biggest Pokemon convention in the world. It wasn’t just about pokemon. It was about their trainers too, and all the things that came with it. There were the Trees, or I guess the Professors. I called them the trees. There were champions and semi-champions doing exhibitions everywhere, and even gym leaders and Elite Four members were here. I also know that I wouldn’t have been here if I hadn’t have done my best. Johto was a hard road, but I’d done it. Barely. Now I was here. I was here to do panels on money management on the road, and to talk about training Ice types. They weren’t for a day or so though, so I had time, and the con lasted a full week.

Even better, they were hosting the con in Unova, in the Las Vegas state. It was a jewel in the desert, a little bit of civilization in the middle of nowhere, and I knew, if it wasn’t for the Colorado River being close by or for Bugsy Siegel having the idea to build the Big Spritzee, the city wouldn’t exist at all, and there’d be nothing in this section of Unova. Now it was one of the largest cities in the world, and the casinos drew in billions of dollars a year. They made so much money that the state was able to abolish income tax from residents, easily supplementing it from the tax that they charged tourists. I glanced at my savings account. This is what I was saving money for. I had a good chunk of money and the winnings from the League, so I could afford a hotel room for as long as I needed. Hell, I could have probably gambled a little if I wanted to, and still have some left over to buy some merch and something to take home to mom in New Bark.

I wandered through the halls of one of the Casinos that was hosting the con. The con was actually being held in three of them. The Bellagio, Ceasar’s Palace, and The Spritzee. They had also cleared an auditorium called the Omnia at Ceasar’s Palace and prepared it for outdoor exhibitions, like horseback riding. I was in Caesar’s Palace. The statuary was beautiful. The dinging of the machines and the smell of the air and the beautiful women selling cigars and alcohol and the lights and the music. Every last thing in this city was designed to squeeze every last bit of dopamine into your brain. To keep you there. To keep you spending money. To make you think that you’d be the next big winner. It was beautiful, but sinister. Under it all, it was still capitalism. It was still to make the CEOs rich, and it took the polish off a little, knowing the true intent.

I heard some cheering and an announcer, though it was pretty muffled, and wandered in that direction, not caring about possibly gambling anymore. There were thousands of trainers, talking, gambling, eating, smoking, and so many of them were beautiful. I felt like a sham in comparison. I got a lot of funny looks too. You’d think they’d never seen a gay guy before, or something. I ignored it and opened the doorway where I was hearing the noise from. It was the Omnia, and the stands were filled, and off to the side was a beautiful boy.

He was standing next to a Ponyta, stringing a bow of some kind, and he had a quiver of arrows on his back that were actually fletched with feathers, and not silicone or rubber which was modern. He was watching the other person doing an expo right now intently. The other guy was definitely from Unova, but the southern state. He was wearing blue plaid button up with chaps and a cowboy hat. He was on the back of a Tauros, one hand on the reins and another in the air. The Tauros was bucking wildly, but the man held on. It bounced and kicked and let out a cry, then with another kick, the man lost his grip and fell off. The clowns, literal rodeo clowns, were on the field immediately, catching the very angry Tauros’ attention and getting it away from the cowboy that had jumped up and dusted himself off. The Tauros chased a clown into the bullpen and the pen closed, and the clown jumped out the other side, and there was cheering.

I was disgusted, really. I knew what it was. They tied a rope to the poor Tauros’ testicles then yanked on it. No wonder it was so angry. I’d have been pissed too. The beautiful stranger went back to his bow, shaking his head. He also wasn’t impressed, it seemed.

“And a round of applause for some expert wrangling from Pokemon Ranger Phillips! In an hour, we’ll be moving to a horseback archery exhibition with Rath Jarin, a representative of the Jarin tribe. Come back and see us!” Said the announcer, and people started filing out. The other guy, this Rath person, cracked his neck, stretched his arms over his head, then mounted his Ponyta. No one shooed me out, so I went and sat in the bleachers. He was Native, by his name. That explained his clothes. He was wearing a long red leather thing that went down past his pants to just above his ankles. It had embroidery along the hem, and he was wearing honestly what looked like a leather breastplate tied across his chest. The red thing was held in place by a light blue sash cinched around his waist, and he was wearing high hard brown leather boots and black pants. He also had a red bandana on his head, that kept his brown hair, that was longer and poking out of the ends of the bandana, in place, and he had earrings that were real Xatu feathers. His bow looked equally authentic, made of wood and having a cloth wrap around the middle. The Ponyta had a beautiful saddle, with a bit in its mouth, and a bridle around it’s head.

Another man, definitely a relative, moved a target onto the field. “Alright, Rath. You’ve got this. Just like we practiced,” the man said, and the archer, Rath, had his Ponyta go to the end of the field. That’s when the usher noticed me.

“Sorry, sir. I have to ask that you leave until the next exhibition. We need to get set up and the performers need their privacy.”

I wasn’t gonna argue and just nodded, standing, and made my way out. I definitely wanted to see the exhibition, and decided to hit the buffet first. They had cuisine from all over the world at the buffet, and it was open for free to the con-goers. I just flashed my trainer card and they let me in. I didn’t eat a lot. I never really ate a lot, and found myself structuring my day. I wanted to see the archery exhibition, but after that, what would I do? There was a panel about pokemon training, and I heard that the well known Hoenn finalist Mason Lockheart would be there. He trained with a Gengar. He was also known as a heartthrob and a bad boy, and I had to admit to myself, he was cute. It was probably an act though. We all adopted gimmicks when we got famous to differentiate ourselves. I also knew there was a party tonight. Staffers only. That was definitely exciting. Promises of booze, drugs, and sex were always exciting, and hell, I was in Sin City, so why not?

I waited and ate until about ten minutes before the demo, then headed back in. Rath was in the middle of the arena, with a convincing but fake smile on his face. He was holding his Ponyta by the reins, and he must have just put on the makeup while I was out, cause now he had what looked like ceremonial makeup on his face. It was actually pretty fearsome, complete with a red handprint over his mouth. I knew what that meant. It was for the missing Native women. So he was cute and kept up with important politics. He was also wearing a microphone headset. He waited until everyone was seated, then began.

“Good evening. My name is Rath Jarin. I’m from the Jarin tribe. Tonight, I’m demoing the horseback archery that made the Jarins feared and respected in this area. Before I do any archery though, we have a little bit about my people to go through.”

“Before the Galarian colonizers showed up in Unova, most of it was unsettled, and filled with Native tribes. My tribe, the Jarin, traces its roots back pretty far, but we don’t really have a timestamp. We had a mostly oral tradition, and it’s not kind to mark exact dates. What is known, is that we were great diplomats and feared warriors, often hired by other tribes for our abilities. We were well known for our archery and horseriding skills. Obviously, this is the desert, and it’s pretty grueling to walk across the desert. We tamed horses, sold them for meat and mounts, and defended ourselves with our arrows.”

“When the Amanecerians, then the Galarians came, I guess the nice way to put it is that they weren’t welcome. I’m not gonna get real in-depth about that, but a war soon broke out. The Jarin people were soon being hired by tribes as mercenaries to protect trade caravans. It wasn’t long before we too went to war with the Amanacerians, that had allied with the Galarians, but gunpowder and disease won out over bows and arrows, and we were moved to a reserve, and required to abide by certain laws. Those laws were simple things, like having last names for easy categorization, hefty taxes, and other stuff that white...uhm, civilization requires. That’s why my last name is Jarin. In the Jarin tribe, you were known by a birth name, and we had no last names. Most of the tribe just took the tribal name as their last name.”

He took a break, mounted his ponyta, and started talking again. “Most of our mounts were pokemon like Ponyta and Rapidash, though we did have one or two Blizle and Zebstrika occasionally, especially with our Kin to the North in what is now Castelia. My Ponyta’s name is Ember, and I’ve known her ever since I was a baby and she was a foal. We’ve grown up together, and have become the team you’ve seen before you. I won’t get into the anatomy of a ponyta, because you came here for archery, so let’s talk about the mechanics of a bow and arrow.

A typical Jarin bow was made of palm, which isn’t very good wood to make a bow out of, but it’s what we had. We moved onto better woods when we started trading heavier, and came across things like oak from the south. The bowstring could be anything from gut to pokemon hair. To string a bow, you just take the bow, brace your boot-” He demonstrated as he spoke, “and then put the bowstring in the grooves. Arrows were often made from similar wood as the bow, and fletched with Braviary or Mandibuzz feathers, usually. My own are fletched from Braviary. The mechanics of a bow and arrow are simple, so I won’t bore you with that. So, let’s move onto the fun part of the show! I’d like to introduce my beautiful assistant-” He paused for effect, “Johnny Jarin, my father.”

There was applause and Rath started taking off the microphone, switching it off and handing it to a con staffer. He then readied his bow, cracked his neck again, and Ember moved to the far end of the field. His dad, Johnny, moved the stationary target into position, and Rath closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them again. It must have been hard to perform before a crowd. His dad moved to the side, and a close up of the target appeared on a screen on the far side. Rath made a noise, and the Ponyta started sprinting down the field. He reached back and nocked an arrow with incredible speed, pulled back on the bow, and tracked the target. When he was in front of it, he loosed the arrow, and it wasn’t a bullseye, but it was pretty close. There was cheering from the crowd. Hell, I clapped. That was some skill. Ember turned and started down the field again, and he knocked another arrow, then let loose when they went past. They were a good fifty feet out, but he was still doing pretty well.

The expo went on like that. At one point, his dad pulled out a drone and they did some airborne and moving targets. Rath was a damn good shot, and his expo went on for thirty minutes. Then it was over, just like that.

“Let’s have a round of applause for Rath Jarin and his father! Come back in an hour for our barrel racing competition!”

He went off to the side where he’d take questions, and I wanted to talk to him, but I had nothing important to ask. That, and the gaggle of women that went to talk to him kept me seated. Blonde, pretty, perky tits. He was probably into that, and not someone like me. I sat in the bleachers instead, playing on my transceiver. I had a few missed messages, and mom was messaging me, so I figured I should respond. That was the right thing to do. I also figured out when the party was gonna be later, and it was sooner than I thought it’d be. I figured I’d go shower, feed the kids, and get dressed. Maybe relax for a bit, then go out.

“Hey,” a voice said, and I glanced up, then probably blushed like an idiot. It was Rath, and he was looking right at me. I glanced around, and he snorted.

“No, I’m talking to you. What’s your name?”

Uh… Ethan?” I responded.

“I saw you in here when I was practicing. I’m Rath. What’d you think of the performance?”

I had no idea why he was talking to me. He was really pretty up close, even with the makeup on. “I thought it was pretty cool. You’re really talented, and you have a good bond with your pokemon.”

He smiled and nodded. “Thanks. I’m glad you enjoyed it. Maybe I’ll see you around,” he said, and he and Ember trotted off towards the animal pens. I just blinked, definitely like an idiot. I wasn’t prepared for any interaction. Why had he singled me out? What had I done? I just shook my head and stood. I had a party to get ready for, and I’d probably never meet Rath again. He didn’t seem the party type. Maybe I’d find another pretty boy to plow me. I lacked the equipment for the other way anyway.


	2. High roller

After dinner, I was ready to go. Sneasel and Glalie were still eating, so I sat and caught up with texts. Mom wanted pictures of the con, but I definitely wasn’t taking them tonight. She didn’t need to know what I was getting into. I finished brushing out my hair, then debated on the cap. The cap was usually a good idea. I put it on, pulling some of my hair out of it like the noob I was. I looked in the mirror. I didn’t look like I was going to a party. I looked like I was going out on a journey, with my red and white striped shirt, jeans, and mandatory trainer’s vest, but it was really the nicest stuff I owned. I hadn’t really thought to buy anything nicer after winning the league, and that was my own fault. I should have been prepared.. I shook my head, made sure my binder was in place, stuffed my packer into my jeans, then turned again to my pokemon. They had finished eating by the looks of things, so I recalled them and put their balls on my belt. I was ready.

I stepped out of the hotel room and put my hands in my pockets, making my way down the elevator. I wished they had stairs, but this was the LINQ. They were emergency only. When I got out, I was assaulted by the 3D signs that they had everywhere. They moved and swayed and the stuff on them looked like they’d have a great texture if they weren’t LCD. It’d be enough to give an epileptic a seizure, really. I walked out and started down the street. Apparently, the party was being held in the bar area of the Spritzee, which was in the middle of the main floor, separate from the casino area, and they had closed down the entire section when I got there. I showed my trainer card then my staff badge, and they let me in through the door.

I was again assaulted by lights and noise and smells, but this was different. The room smelled almost like cigarettes, but also a lot like sweat and bad decisions. The place was packed, with an area that was definitely for dance over to one side. They had strobing lights and the music thumped and the bass pounded and it sounded like dark/steel/electric type. I wasn’t really a dancing type, but there were more activities than that. There was the bar, obviously, with two cute bartenders, one for every sexuality, quickly mixing drinks and chatting up the patrons. Off to a side and around a corner, where it’d be a bit quieter, was the green bar section, which I was definitely going to make it to at some point. There was so much to do, and I drifted into the crowd, watching the people lose their inhibitions and partake of what this city was all about. Vice. I had planned to be there soon enough myself.

I wandered and watched people on the dance floor, but I wasn’t a dancer. Not masculine anyway. Sure, I knew the basic dance moves. White Witch Shawl Twirl, Clearing the Cobwebs, all of that, but this wasn’t a goth bar and I was masc today and trying really hard to blend in. I eventually found my way to the bar and had a seat, ordering a beer, which I detested. It was nasty, but men drank beer, right? That was the whole thing. I guess Newcastle wasn’t so bad, but beer tasted like wheat water most of the time. I was doing my best to glower and figure out what I wanted to do with myself. I was excited to go to a party, but forgot that this is what parties looked like for most people. Dancing, alcohol, and drugs. If you were cis and single, you could probably find a date, but that normally meant you had to partake of one of those things, and not be horribly awkward and dressed like a teenager that just got off the trail for a day.

Then someone sat by me. “You look bored,” he said, and I glanced up, and was shocked. It was Rath, granted, he was dressed very differently than he had been. In the place of the Native gear, he was wearing black slacks, boots, a white button up that was unbuttoned enough to be provocative and show off his chest, but he still had a bandana on. This one was white and black camouflage. The bandanas were always a good look. Instead of having the Xatu feathers in both ears, he just had one, and he kept the light blue sash, which was wrapped around his waist loosely. I was actually questioning his age now. The open front button up thing was something I’d expect from someone like Augustine Sycamore. Not a native Unovan that kinda looked my age. Regardless, he was fucking stunning and fashionable. Tres chic, I believe it’s called.  
“I’m okay. I guess I just expected something different,” I said, taking a swig from the bottle in front of me and trying not to look disgusted. It didn’t work.

“And you’re drinking swill on purpose? Is it because of fragile masculinity, or do you just enjoy the torture?” He asked. It was like an expertly shot arrow right into the heart of my self esteem. I hated it and tried not to bolt. He ordered a daiquiri, for both of us? “I assume you like bananas? I like bananas.”

“I mean, it’s okay, I guess?”

“Stop trying to put on. Be yourself. When you try to be hypermasculine, it’s just more evident. Besides, hypermasculinity is stupid.”

“Says the person in the right body.”

“Wrong. I work with the body I was given.” The drinks arrived, and I didn’t really know how to feel? I hadn’t asked for his opinion, but he gave it, and it was actually correct, whether I wanted it to be or not. He had to have been some form of not cis, to just so boldly say something about it. “So, how’s the party?” He asked, taking his drink and spinning in his stool to look out at the crowd. I swear to Arceus he was glittering. The motherfucker had body glitter on, and was wearing some cologne that didn’t smell masculine at all, but it wasn’t feminine either? I couldn’t have been talking to the same person that did equestrian archery just a few hours before.

“Not really my thing. I prefer things a little less… I guess populated? It’s fine and not offensive, but I don’t dance anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Cause I look like a dumbass and only know white girl goth moves.”

He snorted. “And I only know native ritual dances, but that isn’t gonna stop me. I just decided to get a drink to get loose first. Really, you look fine and pass with flying colors. Stop trying so hard. I promise, no one in this room cares. They’re here to have a good time, and if anyone says anything, I’ll bust their beak.”

“I don’t need you to defend me.”

“It’s not for you. I hardly know you. It’s for the other transpersons in the crowd that might be watching.” He took a big sip from his daiquiri, seemingly unfazed by my protest. What was I dealing with here? He didn’t operate like any boy I’d ever met before. I guess I kinda liked it? He seemed to know everything I was feeling, without me saying anything about it. How? Was he trans? I doubted that very much. He didn’t have any scars from what I could see with that open shirt, and he was so comfortably androgynous. Maybe he was a they? I was just confused. He finished his daiquiri, slid it across the bar, then stood. “Are we human, or are we dancer?”

“Are you serious, right now? You’re trying to ply me with the Killers?” I asked, but placed my drink down. He grabbed my hand, which was presumptive but not unwanted, and dragged me onto the dance floor. He was right, he had no idea what he was doing, but then, neither did I, so it was a great time. We moved and turned in time with the music that had gone from Dark/Electric/Steel to Dark/Poison. It was deep and heavy and made me think of LSD, alcohol, and dark, secret pleasures. Definitely haunted strip club. As the actual alcohol hit me, I realized that he was right. No one was here to start a fight. Everyone was here to have fun, and I probably could have come in a dress and no one would have looked twice.

What was better is that he was dancing closer to me. He wasn’t grinding on me or anything, but he was close enough that I could smell his sweat mixed with his cologne and it was a great combination. I definitely typed him as a ground type when I met him, but I think he might be Ground/Fairy, now that I was getting some more exposure. I was actually getting kind of tired, and he took my hand again, and I just went with him, because if it hadn’t been for him, I probably wouldn’t have enjoyed myself at all.

He drug me over to the green bar, which was lit up in neons and had a light up Bulbasaur that was green and pink, and it provided most of the light. I never thought those colors would look good together, but they worked great, especially in neon lights. He waved over the server, and ordered us some Pink Death Star, then leaned back, looking pleased with himself. He was definitely wearing body glitter. I could see it on him now. He looked like what a particular Kalosian Blonde Noble Vampire would have looked like if he dumped a vat of glitter on himself. Not fucking Edward from Twilight. Edward wasn’t sparkly enough. It wasn’t bad though. It looked good. The server came back with two joints and he popped the joint in his mouth. We didn’t talk much. We sat in silence, the music still pumping, slightly muffled, but only slightly. We both smoked, enjoying the silence, feeling the vibrations through the seats.

After what was probably thirty minutes, he spoke. “Wanna makeout?”

“Absolutely.”

His mouth met mine, and his hand went to my midsection. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, leaning heavily into the kissing. It was fucking phenomenal. I don’t know where he learned, but he graduated with honors and was probably Valedictorian. It wasn’t long before he got a little handsy, and I was so down. His hands did glide over my binder though, and I pulled away self-consciously. He stopped immediately. “Is something wrong?”

“I umm… Sorry. I haven’t done this since I started T.”

He nodded, then looked around. “This scene is dead. Want to come up to my room?”

I didn’t know, honestly. Yes, absolutely, but what was he expecting? He couldn’t have been an idiot. I know that he knew he felt a binder, and I know that he knew that I didn’t have outdoor plumbing. Was he okay with that? “I guess, sure,” I said before my brain could catch up. It was probably the pot. He nodded and stood, taking my hand again for the third time that night, and we left. He wasn’t staying in the Spritzee. We cut across the street to Caesar’s Palace on the skybridge and went up to his room. He pressed his key to the door, then walked in, and sat on the bed. The first thing he did was start taking those boots off. He looked like an 18th century Kalosian nobleman, especially with the black riding boots. He then gently took out the Xatu feather and opened a box, placing it gently inside, next to the other one. There were other bits and bobs in the box, including beads, there was a small piece of cloth, an arrowhead, and the box was specifically made for them to fit in snuggly. It reminded me of my badge box that I got when I started my journey in Johto, actually. He noticed me looking.

“Probably pretty curious to you? You want me to explain?”

“Only if you want to?”

He nodded and picked up the box, setting it in his lap. “You can look and touch, but be careful with the feathers. These aren’t synthetic.” He offered the box to me. There were twelve items in the box itself.

“So, the first feathers you see are Natu feathers. All of the Native trainers are given those at the start of their journey, and our ears are ritually pierced and we wear them at all times, unless we’re sleeping, or we decide not to finish the journey. The next item is an arrowhead, from our first ‘gym’ which is on the res of my own people. You visit all the reservations, not necessarily in any order, and get the items after a quest of some sort. After that is a cut of ceremonial cloth, then a gogoat horn, then a handmade glass bead, then an obsidian shard, then a Braviary claw, then a flower shed from a Deerling, and finally, the crest from a legendary pokemon. They’re our equivalents of gym badges, except we don’t battle our pokemon. For us, pokemon aren’t for battling. They work with us, and we work alongside them. We don’t battle and take orders from them, do we? Instead, we perform a trial that is unique to all the seven tribes, except the eighth, which is how our Elite Four works, I guess. The Tribal Elders of all the tribes send you on a quest to talk to Cobalion, and he gifts you with his crest, which is basically his horn, which he molts and regrows.”

“Wait, I heard that Cobalion disliked humans. It’s in the legends.”

“Yeah, Cobalion dislikes white humans. The rest of us actually were at peace and harmony with the rest of the pokemon. I had to be ‘politically correct’ and ‘sensitive’ at the expo, so I didn’t get to talk about the fact that the whites stole our land, raped our women, slaughtered us by the thousands, then imprisoned us on shitty land and fined us for being a different skin color.” He took a deep breath. “Anyway, that’s not your fault. No. Cobalion has the ability to read a person’s heart, and he gets the final say about whether you get to carry his crest or not. If he gives it to you, then you return as a full adult of the tribe you’re a member of, and are awarded two Xatu feathers to replace your Natu feathers. Not all of us do this rite of passage, but enough do, and I like to appreciate the culture that I’m from. People have been doing this since before the whites came.” He took the box back and shut it, then put it back on the nightstand.

“I’m sorry that happened. About the white people, I mean.”

“You didn’t do it. What do you have to apologize for?”

“I mean, I feel like I should apologize on behalf of all of us.”

He nodded. “I appreciate the sentiment, but if you want to apologize, join us in our protests, and pay reparations. It’s funny, the whites put us on reservations, then we found oil, and all of the sudden, they wanted that land back and we were citizens that needed to integrate with the rest of society. Fucking joke.” He fell back on the bed, adjusting his bandana.

I didn’t know what to do or say, really. He’d shown me a cool thing, but I didn’t really have anything cool. I just stood there awkwardly.

“What’s the problem?” He asked, glancing down at me.

“I don’t know. I guess I just am out of my element.”

“I mean, we all know why I brought you here. We can move on to the main event if you’d like,” he said, as if he was proposing tea. I knew I turned red. He sat up and reached out, pulling me towards him. Uncomfortably close. I was starting to doubt myself. What was I nervous about? I guess, other than the fact that I hadn’t had sex since I started transition. That was definitely something to be nervous about. He smiled and let go of my arm, placing his hands on my waist, and looking up at me. “Or we could stand there awkwardly, or we could just lay in bed and watch TV until we pass out. I’m okay with all of these things. Just not Food Network. I don’t want to get hungry again.”

I snorted. All of it sounded good really, except for the awkward part. I slid myself into his lap, and he placed his hand on my back and gently kissed me again, then paused, flicked on the television, then put the remote back, and went back to what he was doing. I guess it was too quiet. I felt like it was too quiet, personally, but as his lips met mine, the thoughts started drifting out of my head. He kissed me for a while, with me in his lap. I was a small guy and weighed like, 100 lbs, so it obviously didn’t bother him. I started to get into it after a while, running my hands across his chest through the dastardly shirt. It didn’t stay on for long. I got it off of him and tossed it on the floor, then kissed his neck gently. He moved his head, giving me access, and pretty soon, my cap joined the shirt. Then he started on my own shirt, and I pulled away and stopped him. He didn’t push. He immediately stopped what he was doing.

“I’m sorry. I guess… I haven’t been this vulnerable in a while.”

He nodded. “I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to. We can stop, if you want. I won’t push. I do want to assure you though, I don’t care about your parts. I’m glad you feel comfortable showing them to me. I’m not an expert, but I’m also not cis, and the way I see it, I was created a certain way based on science and genetics. It was a random chance. Sometimes, you lose at the blackjack table. It’s like that. I do know, however, that I have the parts I have. I may keep them, or I may swap them out later. What matters is that I have them right now, and I can use them, and it feels good regardless. The important thing is that I’m safe, and I’m comfortable.”

“I want you to be safe and comfortable. If you don’t feel those things, then obviously, something is wrong and we need to figure out what it is. If you want to go, I won’t stop you. If you want to just lay here and not be alone, I’m comfortable with that. The choice is yours. It’s my hotel room and my turf, not yours. What do you want to do?”

I had to think. Talk about a boner killer. Seriously. “I don’t know. I like you, but I don’t like myself. I guess I’m just mad about that.”

He moved his mouth in a certain way, thinking. “Do you want to keep your shirt on? Do you want to stay bound?”

“No. It hurts. I don’t know what I want. I guess, can we keep going, and if I say stop, then we stop?”

He nodded. “I’m okay with that, and I respect your consent. I’ll stop, no questions asked.”

I nodded, then he slowly lifted my shirt again, and I had to resist the urge to stop him. Then he made a noise, and all of my confidence vanished. It was like a scoff. Too late now though. My shirt joined his on the floor.

“Is there a problem?” I asked hesitantly.

“Only that you’re binding with an ace bandage. That can mess you up pretty badly. I picked up some spare binders from a F to M friend a while back after his surgery. They were pretty petite like you. I can get some and bring them to you tomorrow while you're still in town. I kept them specifically to give them to people that needed them. Let’s get this off of you,” he said, then started unwinding the bandages. So, I don’t have a small chest. I have a lot of back pain, and they hurt a lot, and even when I bind, it’s not entirely flat. He started to notice that I guess, and then threw the bandage with the growing clothes pile. I didn’t really know what I was expecting. They were really big and didn’t stand up on their own, despite what you see in the media. They hung down to almost past my ribcage. He didn’t even bat an eye. “Would it cause you dysphoria if I touched them?”

I shook my head, and he slid me off his lap and let me lay down in the bed, which my spine was thankful for. He straddled my legs and gently kissed me, working his way down to my chest, then kissed my nipple gently, then bit it. For some reason, the dysphoria wasn’t hitting me, and I feel like it had something to do with the way he was treating me. Like a person, and not a sex object. He pinched my nipple, and I arched my back reflexively, letting out a small gasp. He glanced at me and grinned, then did it again. I liked it. I liked it a lot. I liked him a lot, and I reached up and dug my nails into his back. He made a noise of his own, then kissed my stomach. I wanted to wrap my fingers in his hair, but he seemed pretty stuck on the bandana, so I didn’t touch it, even though I wanted to. I instead rested my hands on his shoulders.  
It was then that I realized how big he was. He was a big guy. Probably 6’3” or so, and I was only 5’ tall. He licked me where my pants were sitting on my waist, and I could feel myself getting wet, which in itself was problematic. He was right though. They were just parts, and I had them now, so I might as well make use of them. I squirmed my legs a little, and he reached down and unbuttoned my pants. It was then that I remembered I had a packer in, and panicked a little. He stopped immediately, just like he had before, and arched an eyebrow.

“Could you, umm… Could you look away for a minute?” I asked, and he nodded and did. I reached into my underwear and pulled it out, shoving it under the pillows. I lamented that I didn’t wear my cute lacy underwear, which was one of the few femme things I decided to keep around. I then put my hand on his shoulder and he looked back. “Sorry. Things.”

“No explanation needed,” he said, then finished what he was doing, taking off my jeans and adding them to the pile. I hadn’t been this exposed in a long time, and I guess that was obvious. He leaned back like he was examining me, and I crossed my hands in front of me in response. I didn’t NOT like it, but I wasn’t comfortable with how much I enjoyed being appraised either. He then ground his heel into my crotch, and I about climbed out of the bed. It was so sudden and kinda great all at once, and I wasn’t ready for it. He rubbed at me through my underwear, which was eliciting noises from me, and I know he could feel my heat and the saturation of my underwear. He probably enjoyed that, the bastard. He stopped and leaned down, kissing my stomach again, then grabbed my underwear’s waistband and slowly lowered them, kissing me the whole time. This time, my regret was that I hadn’t shaved. He didn’t even seem fazed, continuing to kiss me as he slid them down and off of me.

Then he put his tongue on my clit and I thought I was gonna die.

It was amazing, and I learned pretty quick that this definitely wasn’t his first time with an indoor plumbing person. He knew what to do, and sure, I’d been eaten out before, but not like that. Usually, things can just be rocky or uncomfortable, but I didn’t feel that way this time. Everything he did felt great, and I balled the sheets in my fists as he went to town. I guess I tried to close my legs at one point, because he moved his hands and braced them against my thighs, forcing me to be open. Forcing me to be exposed. Forcing me to accept the pleasure he was giving me. I started shuddering and quaking. I don’t know why, but I knew I was getting close. Was he gonna get me off this way? HE WAS GONNA GET ME OFF THIS-- I didn’t get through the thought before the pleasure wracked my body in a wave, and I convulsed and made a noise somewhere between a moan and a scream. I never was really quiet. The orgasm rocked my body, but he didn’t stop, if anything, speeding up a little, like my screams where pushing him on. When they started to die down, and I started to come down, he slowed, then pulled away, and he wiped at his mouth. I hated that smug look he had on his face.

“You okay?” He asked, and all I could do right now was manage a quick nod, then grabbed a pillow and put it over my face. I don’t know why it helped. I guess I didn’t have to know he was looking at me. I felt him lie down next to me, then I felt his hand in the hair on my crotch. He wasn’t trying to get me off again or anything. He was just idly playing with it. I needed a minute to come down and get my thoughts together. It wasn’t the best orgasm I’d ever had, but it wasn’t a bad one. When I got myself under control, I moved the pillow and didn’t look at him, kissing his stomach and biting his nipples like he had mine. He was fit, like I had expected him to be. He had a job that involved using his muscles, and it showed. He didn’t fight me, but put his hand in my hair, pulling a little, which I was totally okay with. He could have facefucked me at this point and I would have let him. I unbuttoned his pants and slid them down, then yanked his underwear off without a second thought.

He had a gorgeous cock. Not too veiny, Not too colorful. I loved it, and I immediately tried to put the whole thing in my mouth, but I underestimated how big it was. I got it about halfway in before I choked and almost threw up on him, and that would have been awful and embarrassing. Luckily, he didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were closed and he had his hand in my hair. I slowly slid it in and out of my mouth, running my tongue along the tip while it was in my mouth. While I did that, I grabbed his testicles with a free hand, and lightly pulled at them. He squirmed a little, but wasn’t as noisy as I was. Definitely breathy. I liked it. I worked him for a while, and at one point, some precum came out, but he didn’t get off. I pulled away and looked at him, and he half opened his eyes, looking at me expectantly. That look, I don’t know what it was about it, but I was immediately wet again, and I wanted him inside of me. I guess he picked up on that. He sat up and pulled me to him again, and kissed me, and I was surprised. He was usually gentle, but this one was a little rough and I guess passionate?

He then pulled away and pushed me over, and I wasn’t gonna fight him. I got on my knees and put a pillow where I could put my head, and I hugged it. I heard him open a drawer, then open a package, and I was a little relieved. I wasn’t in my right mind, and I was glad someone was thinking about condoms. I may have been on birth control, but it still paid off to be safe. Then I felt his tongue on me again. It felt fucking great, and I just zoned out on the pillow, letting him do whatever he wanted to me. My body was his at this point. Then I felt him slide in. There wasn’t any lube needed. He was a little thicker and it’d been awhile, so I was a little tight and atrophied. He didn’t seem to mind, going slow at first, and I got to feel every centimeter of his magnificent cock as it slid in, then out again. I moaned. I know I did. I was a loud and shameless slut in bed. I knew that too. He started going harder and faster, but not too much. He fucked me, and I loved every minute of it. He felt great, and his cock felt great, and he respected me, and he understood me, and all of that kinda culminated into this big explodey mess, and I tried to cry quietly into the pillow. I guess I wasn’t as quiet as I thought I was. He stopped, and I didn’t want him to stop.

“Please. Please don’t stop. Please just fuck me. I need you to fuck me.” I said, and I don’t think I’d ever been this brutally honest with a person before. I was whining and begging. It must have been pitiful, but he didn’t ask questions. He slid back in, and I cried and felt the waves of pleasure rock over me. I don’t really know how to describe what I felt. I wasn’t sad. I felt like a person. I felt like a beautiful boy that was worth a damn. I don’t know why I needed a dick in me to feel that way, but it happened. I felt valid and loved, but not in a romantic way, I don’t think. Definitely in a platonic way. My crying turned into moaning, which turned into screaming, and he sped up, slamming into me. It hurt, but I wanted it to hurt. I came, and I came hard. This was the best orgasm I’d ever had, and I felt his dick pulse, and he sucked in a breath, but he didn’t scream. Not like I had. I was thankful for the pillow, because I buried my face in it, and I cried as I orgasmed. I felt him pull out of me, and I heard the condom come off, then I felt him lay down next to me, and I crawled damn near on top of him, crying my eyes out. He hugged me and didn’t say a word, and he didn’t have to, because I was safe, and I was comfortable, and I was valid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked it, hit that Kudos button and let me know! Enjoy another Niche fic that's gonna get like, 30 hits.


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